


I've Been Losing Sleep (dreaming about the things we could be)

by cydonic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Avengers: Endgame fix it, Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes is not having his shit, First Kiss, Fix It, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, steve rogers is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 14:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cydonic/pseuds/cydonic
Summary: Contains spoilers for Avengers: Endgame.In the morning, Steve's going back in time to return the stones. He tells Bucky about his plan.





	I've Been Losing Sleep (dreaming about the things we could be)

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd, fixing the mistakes Endgame made.  
> Please heed the warning. This _will_ spoil the movie for you.

For a family of three – two, now, Steve reminds himself with a grimace – they had a lot of spare rooms. People stay after the funeral. They aim for upbeat when it comes to the wake – _“it’s what he would’ve wanted,”_ someone says, but they all know what Tony wanted was to be alive, to see his little girl grow up – but it fails miserably. People mill about in sombre silence. They drink. They make stilted conversation.

It’s hard to celebrate the win, to look at the people in the room who had been gone for five years, without feeling the cost of that weighing heavy on his shoulders. Tony is not the only casualty. Nat wasn’t either.

Steve doesn’t have the energy to do much more than make small talk with as many people as he has to before it becomes late enough to turn in without looking like he’s avoiding anything. He is avoiding something, but that’s beside the point.

In the morning they have to return the stones to their rightful places in history. Try to stop the timeline from branching out where they came and went, their presence (hopefully) nothing more than a split second in the grand scheme of things.

Steve’s selfishly put his hand up to do the job. It’s not in the interest of saving the world, or keeping time flowing as it should be. Those are all good, honourable reasons to make a choice such as this.

The reason he’s offered is so he can go back. So he can glimpse Peggy through the blind-clad glass once again. To look at her red lips and her perfect curls and imagine, as he has done so often, what _might have been_.

There’s nothing stopping him now, either, from turning what might have been into what was. Once he’s back there, no one can force him out. He can return the stones – duty first – and then find a quiet moment to talk to her, tell her everything that’s happened, confess to her what he’s done.

Would she take him? Would she leave the family she’s built for herself for him, if he explains it the way he sees it? Surely Peggy would understand the years he’s spent missing her, grieving for what they never really had.

Someone knocks at the door.

Steve’s mother would be rolling over in her grave at the fact that he doesn’t answer, instead hoping the person will take the hint and leave. She’d always raised him with good manners. He could go back and see her, too. Save her.

He could save them all.

The door opens and closes. Steve should’ve locked it. He lifts his head a fraction to meet the person walking in the room with what he hopes is a _go away_ stare.

It’s Bucky.

He musters up a weak half-smile, and even those who never knew him could tell that was fake, but Steve knows him better than that. Why’d he even bother?

“What’re you hiding away up here for?” Bucky asks after a moment, sitting beside Steve on the bed. Steve feels it dip. He’s used to Bucky’s weight beside him in a way so intrinsic that it feels like home, like safety.

Steve could save him, too.

“Tired,” is the gruff response Steve manages, and Bucky snorts in disbelief.

“Bullshit,” Bucky calls him out on it – when’s he ever let Steve get away with anything? “You’re thinking so loud I can hear you downstairs. What is it?”

Bucky doesn’t know. Well, he knows some of it – he knows that Steve’s offered to go back to return the stones, and probably to him it’s another alley, another fight, and that’s why he’s so far offered to come ten times. He doesn’t know the real motivation there. Steve’s almost embarrassed to share.

Steve fidgets. Bucky places a hand on his thigh to stop him. It’s oppressive – Steve wants to shrug it off, wants it to stop burning through the fabric of his pants. He doesn’t.

“You don’t have to go, you know. Plenty of people offered.” Bucky’s voice carries the same soothing pitch it used to when he slowly talked Steve through an asthma attack. As if he’s conditioned to do so, Steve chokes a little. Bucky’s hand moves from his thigh to his shoulder. “I’ll come with you. We can do it together.”

“I don’t want you to come with me.” Steve feels small in every way, smaller than he ever felt when his legs were kicked out from under him and he was left, curled up, next to a garbage can.

“Why’s that?” Bucky’s hand moves – other shoulder. Steve wishes he still fit under Bucky's arm like he used to, able to burrow safely there. He could come back smaller – Scott had done it.

“I -,” his voice lasts all of one word, one single letter, and then it’s lost. Steve might start crying, but that’d be rude. It’s Tony’s funeral and he wouldn’t be crying about him. Steve hasn’t been able to cry about Tony, yet. It feels so raw and unreal, like he’s going to come barging in the room with some stupid insult and an even stupider idea for how they’re going to save the world next.

Except Bucky locked the door behind him.

Except Tony’s not coming back.

Bucky’s squeezing him in time with his breath. Does he remember when they used to do this?

“If I go back, I don’t think I’ll-,” Steve attempts again, because Bucky’s silent comfort is painful in its own way, more painful than if the truth were being extracted from him like an infected molar. “I saw her.”

“Her?” Bucky knows. He has to.

“Peggy,” Steve’s voice breaks again. He tries not to cry but he’s being especially selfish today so he does so. It’s silent, just a few tears sliding down his cheeks. “I saw her when we went back to get the stones.”

Bucky’s only answer is a knowing, “ah,” and Steve shakes out of his grip. He’s standing, hands fisted, and if he wasn’t in the house of a dead friend of his Steve would be letting loose his frustration rather than just balling his fists and hoping that’ll do the trick (when did it ever?).

“Is that it?” Steve manages to keep his voice down – he can hear people downstairs still, the subdued conversation drifting up through the flooring.

Bucky shrugs but remains sitting. His eyes flit around: Steve, his lap, the door. They spend a second on each. Steve knows how it feels to be scared. It itches whenever there’s a doorway or window to his back, but he’s just stubborn enough to stand in front of them anyway. As if an inanimate object and his own mind could keep him down when nothing else had managed before.

“So you’re going to go back and talk to her?” Bucky asks, still quiet, still keeping an eye on everything. He looks over his shoulder at the second-floor window. “Will that mess anything up? Time-wise?”

“Buck – no, I – we could finally –“

“– you’re going to _stay_ with her?”

Finally, Bucky looks annoyed. His eyes focus on Steve’s face, razor sharp. That’s his ‘ _you’re bleeding on the carpet_ again _’_ look. That’s his ‘ _if you try to enlist again I’ll kill you_ ’ look.

Steve tries to glare back.

There’s a stretch of time where they’re stuck there, in this stand-off, both looking at one another. Bucky knows he’ll win because patience is a virtue Steve Rogers was never blessed with. Bucky Barnes, on the other hand, has it in spades. Steve wouldn’t call him virtuous, but he can wait.

So, naturally, Steve cracks first.

“I could – I could stay with her,” Steve explains, fingers twitching as they try to fist tighter, knuckles white. “I could help her. I could get HYDRA out of SHIELD – I could _save you_. I could go back and fix all of those things. There are people who would never have to die, Bucky, I could…” Just as quickly as he’s gathered steam, barrelling through what jumbled thoughts his mind spews out, he stops. Sags.

Bucky stands up, and he looks – angrier. Furious might be the word. Not the detached coldness he’d had as the Soldier, the type that still haunted Steve when he slept, but like he did during the war. Like he did when he ended the fights Steve foolishly started.

“I’m _here_. I don’t need saving.”

“I could save you before everything they did to you, though, Buck, I could –“

“– _I_ don’t need saving, Steve. Listen to me for once in your _goddamn life_ , Rogers,” Bucky is coming closer, and he looks like he’s about to punch Steve – wouldn’t be the first time that’s ever happened. Steve would almost relish it right now. “I’m _here_.”

“We could have the lives we wanted. Go home from the war, Buck. I could marry Peg, and we could–”

Bucky actually does punch him then. Right hook. It stings, and Steve takes a reflexive step to the side to balance, loads up his leg ready to launch back in and fight, but… why? Why fight? It's Bucky – it's not the enemy.

 “Is that the life you always wanted, Steve? Because I remember pulling your ass out of enough _fucking_ fights to know that you were never the settling down type. So you’re just gonna go back there and play happy families and leave the rest of us to deal with whatever happens next?” Steve’s got his mouth open to reply, but Bucky keeps going. “You’re going to leave _me_ to deal with whatever happens next? Rescue me from HYDRA just to go live in the past with the me you did a better job on? Am I just your test run?”

“That’s not what I meant, Bucky!”

“Well it’s what you’re fucking _saying_ , Steve!” Bucky’s panting, shaking, glaring at his hand. Steve’s face has already bruised, coming up a beautiful dark purple which will fade within the hour to nothingness. “I don’t _get_ a do-over. I get this life now. I don’t get to be selfish like you.”

Steve knew it was selfish from the moment he conceived the plan, but hearing Bucky announce it like that hurts more than any fist ever could.

It _is_ selfish.

Bucky exhales sharply through his nose. “I have _never_ had the chance to be selfish because you did that for the both of us. But if I had that chance to have whatever _I_ wanted, all I’d want is you to stay here.” He meets Steve’s eyes like he’s just issued a challenge, like he’s just thrown down the gauntlet.

“Buck,” Steve says, forlorn, reaching out a hand.

Bucky bats it away.

“Don’t _Buck_ me, Steve.” Bucky’s still shaking like a leaf, which is in stark contrast to how he looks on the battlefield – entirely calm, still as a statue. “You can go and do this in the morning, if that’s what’s gonna make you happy. But you owe it to me to let me be selfish, just for once. You can’t take all of that with you.”

“Anything, Bucky,” the words come out barely above a whisper, this ghost of a sound.

Bucky inhales deeply, once – twice. Adjusts one foot, like he’s digging in. He lifts his head – meets Steve’s eyes, and Steve feels it coming before he’s said it. “I have been in love with you from the day I met your scrawny ass. And if you go back there and decide you’re staying, I want you to always know that.”

Steve –

stops.

Bucky’s gone before he can process it, the door slamming shut in his wake.

He’s thought this through, to an extent. He’s thought of living with Peggy, having kids, getting married, dancing together in the living room and cooking dinner and going on walks and _growing old_. That’s been the fantasy, held tight in the locket with her image. That was always the dream.

Only Steve has never been able to think of Bucky as anything other than his. Steve’s never been able to shake the memories of warm hands pulling him home, a body beneath a blanket keeping him warm, a person counting out his breaths through an attack. When Bucky had died, Steve had gone with him, plummeted off the side of that train so fast that nose-diving into the ocean had been the only way to soothe the hurt.

The moment Steve had seen Peggy, it had been like finding a friend. It had hurt. She spoke to him about her family, her husband and children and grandchildren. There was no way it wouldn’t be painful, but Steve had been so happy for her. She’d lived her life. She’d lived the life that Steve had, in some way, convinced himself he wanted.

But had he?

Because he hadn’t torn the world apart looking for Peggy the way he had for Bucky, not after he knew he was alive. It had never been an option to think of Bucky in the way he’d been told to think of Peggy, because it just – it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what people did. But Steve had physically ached until he found Bucky. He would’ve died to keep him safe.

Steve had spent the last five years telling people to move on, yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself from trying to find a way to Bucky. He’d lost him twice. He’d lost himself twice in the process.

Loving had never _been_ an option.

Or it had, and he'd always been too stubborn and self-centred to notice.

Steve didn’t know where Bucky might have gone, since they’d agreed to share a room. He lets himself quietly out into the hallway, and it's easy enough to blend back in with the people remaining. He's still in the clothes he’d been wearing, albeit with a new, yellowing face accessory. Sam raises an eyebrow in silent question, before tilting his head over to the backdoor.

Sheepishly, Steve ducks out the door, leaving it ajar.

There was so much space to look. They had all the land surrounding the lake as their own, and yet –

Bucky was right there.

He’d never been the type to run away. Steve had always been such a little shit, and Bucky had only ever stepped outside for a breather. He’d never been like Steve, prone to dropping everything and going to lose himself in someone else’s fists when it got too hard.

Steve always had been the selfish one.

Bucky’d propped himself up against a tree, feet flat on the ground, knees drawn up to his chest. There was no way he hadn’t heard Steve coming – he was keeping his eyes forward, but it was clearly taking a lot of effort to do so.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” That was the pressing question in Steve’s mind. Why now? Why not  years ago – decades ago?

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. He keeps staring at the water. “Would it have made a difference?”

“Of course it would have.” Steve had spent his entire life thinking this was friendship, that the feelings he had for Peggy and Bucky were somehow different because one of the parties involved had different genitals to the other. But when he got into it – examined the feelings in a way that only a few minutes of crisis can allow – was there a difference? “I don’t know, I mean – Buck.”

“ _Steve_.” A warning.

Steve drops to his knees amidst the grass and pine needles, and Bucky’s jaw tightens. He looks away from Steve.

“Buck, please – just… listen. To me. Please.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He doesn’t leave. Steve takes that as an agreement.

“What you said, I never… thought of it that way. I never thought that you – loving you – was an option that we had. That I could have.”

Bucky laughs into his knees, bitter and watery. “Why was it never an option?”

“I never thought you’d – you were always going out with girls, and I just…” Why would Steve have ever thought that he was something Bucky would want? A small body that couldn’t handle a cough in its presence without trying to self-destruct, not to mention the wrong parts. Or so Steve had thought.

“It’s what we were supposed to do, I get it,” Bucky lifts one hand, his prosthetic, and waves it in a ‘ _whatever_ ’ gesture. “You don’t have to do this.”

“There’s not been a day in my whole life where I haven’t thought about you, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky turns and looks at him, disbelief evident. “You don’t have to do this to make me feel better,” he elaborates.

“It’s not to make you feel better, it’s because – you made me realise. How selfish I was,” Steve looks down at the lake, metres from them, glowing under the moonlight. Tony’s wreath is out there, somewhere. “This is me apologising.”

“Just apologising?”

He could say yes and leave it at that.

“I think I love you too.” It feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute. It feels horrible but it fits in a way that nothing else has. It slides into the part of Steve, the empty part, the part that’s been searching for years in the way that he’d thought Peggy might have done. “I think.”

Bucky’s looking at him, eyes narrow, before he smiles – just faintly so. “I don’t need you to love me back, Steve. I didn’t say it for that.”

“I know, but you made me think –”

“That’s different.”

“Shut up, Barnes, I’m trying to be... _un_ selfish,” Steve attempts a smile.

Bucky responds in turn. “You’ve always been bad at that.”

“I’m trying,” Steve says.

Bucky extends his legs in front of him, turning his body slightly. Steve stretches one of his legs out to brush against Bucky’s foot. “Are you trying by playing footsies with me?”

“Maybe,” Steve ducks his head and Bucky nudges his foot in return. “I’m trying by saying I was an idiot. I always thought – I always thought I was missing something. Like there was a reason everything just felt so… meaningless. When I saw you again, that was – the spark. Purpose, I guess.”

Bucky’s crawling across the small space separating the two of them to sit like he had earlier, side-by-side with Steve. The heat is there again, the sensation that had always come with Bucky. “You’re a bit of a sap, you know that?” Bucky's still avoiding his eyes, but he's smiling, just a small, tentative thing.

Steve nudges Bucky’s side with his elbow and gets a retaliating jab. “You’re the one who said you loved me.”

“Because I’ve always been a fool.” Bucky’s eyes are like the lake now, glistening with reflected moonlight. Steve’s never stopped to appreciate just how breathtaking he is – or maybe he’s been too busy trying to ignore how easy it is to notice, because this comes as naturally as breathing to him now.

“Always been _my_ fool,” Steve corrects. “Can I kiss you?”

The question comes out almost unbidden. Steve’s used to feeling nervous – he’s almost conditioned his body to feel it but then ignore it, stubbornly take the signals from his mind and trample all over them instead.

Bucky’s pale skin blushes in the moonlight, and Steve watches how it colours the skin then disappears down his neck, turning to face him. He reaches out and brushes a hand along Bucky’s jaw, feeling the hair there. It should be weird – should be _wrong_ , his mind still tells himself – but it’s not. Steve’s hand fits perfectly there, fingers brushing the soft skin beneath Bucky’s ear. He can feel every movement in Bucky’s jaw.

“Depends on if you’re any good,” Bucky counters, all bluster. Steve’s glad he’s not the only nervous one.

His kissing experience is fairly limited, but Steve likes to think enthusiasm counts for something. They both go to lean in at the same time and Steve’s nose knocks Bucky’s, but with a nervous, breathy laugh they readjust and finally their lips meet. It’s not like Steve’s expecting it to be – he expects kissing a man to be wildly different to a woman, but it’s the same thing.

It’s the same, but better. Bucky’s lips are warm and they part easily, welcoming him inside like he’s finally made it home. Steve’s tongue is careful at first, brushing Bucky’s bottom lip, building the confidence. Bucky, however, deepens the kiss before Steve gets a chance, drawing Steve’s lower lip down with his teeth before using his tongue to explore every inch.

It becomes a battle, like so many things with Steve do. They’re both trying to touch and taste at the same time – Steve’s hand slips back into Bucky’s hair and fists there. Bucky moans and Steve loses his focus long enough for the other man to climb on top of him, straddling his legs. Bucky pushes Steve down into the grass, giving him the perfect amount of leverage to further the kiss beyond what Steve thought was possible.

They separate not because they want to – or, at least, Steve doesn’t want to – but because Bucky sits up. “Should we do this outside?”

Steve, now that he stops to listen, can still hear faint sounds from indoors. This was a funeral. He should feel more guilty than he does. “Bedroom?”

Bucky nods and stands, offering Steve a hand. He takes it gratefully, and lets Bucky fuss over the needles that have gotten stuck through his hair and the dirt on his back. They very carefully let themselves in through the front door, effectively avoiding the bulk of the people as they sneak back upstairs.

Steve hadn’t noticed until Bucky let go that they’d been holding hands all the way into the room.

Now, in the lamp light, things suddenly feel more – real. Bucky’s skin is warm without the ethereal glow from outside. He’s looking at Steve from beside the bed, his lack of movement a question in and of itself.

“I liked that,” Steve says, to alleviate the thoughts he can see running through Bucky’s head.

Bucky clears his throat. “Was that just – to see how it felt?”

Steve takes a second to process what Bucky’s asking, and when he does he shakes his head almost violently. “What? No – I wasn’t –,” Steve’s denying it but it makes sense. He didn’t exactly instil confidence in Bucky. Not that long ago he was going to run away to live with Peggy.

Now that thought disgusted him. Peggy had lived her life. A happy one. She’d gotten what she wanted. Not only had Steve thought of ruining that, regardless of alternate timelines, but he’d be leaving behind something that felt even more – right.

Bucky’s still looking at him expectantly, and Steve realises he hasn’t put words to his thoughts. He hasn’t got the words. “I’ve loved you for a long time, too.”

Bucky sits down on the bed and Steve comes to stand over him, legs on either side of Bucky’s, slowly crowding him until he’s laying on his back. As soon as he can Steve is pressing his mouth to Bucky’s again, feeling the other man open up beneath him. Bucky’s hands start to unbutton his shirt, and Steve’s heart is pounding but he can’t concentrate on that when there’s Bucky’s mouth sucking on his lower lip, Bucky’s tongue toying with his. Steve curls a hand in Bucky’s hair again, just to feel him moan – to taste it, to have the sound contained between their mouths.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asks in one of their natural separations, moving to suck a bruise into Steve’s neck. It, like the one Bucky gave him earlier, will be faded by morning. His hands are roaming Steve’s chest, lingering just above the waistband of his trousers.

Steve doesn’t know how this could be anything _but_ okay – okay is almost an understatement. “I don’t really know what to do.” Steve says, changing the topic slightly in his response.

“Well,” Bucky mumbles from where he’s latched himself onto Steve’s neck, leaving kisses and small bites behind him. “I can help with that.”

Somehow, Bucky’s sliding out of Steve’s grasp so that half his body is hanging off the bed and he’s at approximately head height with –

Oh.

“Should I move?” Steve asks, but does so without waiting for Bucky to answer. He steps around the other man and then awkwardly waits by the bed until Bucky pushes him into a sitting position.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Bucky asks as his hands hover above the button on Steve’s pants.

Steve nods and Bucky slowly undoes it. The fly comes down, even slower, and Steve is about to lose his mind. “Bucky, c’mon.”

“Patience, Steve,” he chimes, but relents and pulls Steve’s pants and underwear down in one swift movement until it rests mid-thigh and he’s revealed to the cold air.

Steve’s nervous. That’s what he’s calling it. Bucky wraps his flesh hand around Steve’s length without any hesitation, even though he’s only half-hard, even though part of him is terrified. It’s hard to maintain any coherent thought about it, though, when Bucky is slowly sliding his hand up and down.

Steve has no problem, then, moving into the realm of being fully hard. Part of it is Bucky’s hand, working him in ways Steve has never been able to do for himself. Part of it is the way Bucky looks up at him through his lashes with such adoration that Steve can’t quite handle it – like looking at the sun, it’s blinding.

Bucky, without warning, stops what he’s doing – Steve whines, and it sounds almost pathetic, even to him. Bucky’s hand remains curled around the base of Steve’s cock, squeezing, holding him upright. With a smirk, Bucky opens his mouth a fraction and very slowly presses a kiss to the tip of Steve’s dick, and Steve is about to cum then and there.

“Holy shit,” Steve’s never felt something like this before – he and Peggy had _never_.

Bucky doesn’t respond – not verbally, at least, but he does start to place wet kisses down the underside of Steve’s cock, leaving him aching and desperate for more, though he doesn’t know what more Bucky’s going to give him.

Steve finds out soon enough, when Bucky opens his mouth wider and swallows Steve almost entirely in one go. His brain goes completely blank in that, and Steve anchors himself with one hand in Bucky’s hair and the other curled in the blankets.

“Fucking – Bucky, _Christ_ ,” Steve manages between gasps, his hips instinctively arching up into the warm, tight heat of Bucky’s mouth.

His prosthetic arm puts a stop to that, easily pinning Steve’s hips to the bed, and he lets out another desperate whine. “Buck, please,” Steve begs, and he never thought of himself as the type to beg, but – well.

Bucky doesn’t let up on him, hollowing out his cheeks as he swallows Steve even deeper, tongue teasing lines up the underside of Steve’s dick and beneath the head. When Bucky hits a particularly good spot and Steve’s fist tightens in his hair, Steve’s treated to the sound of Bucky’s moan directly _on_ his dick. It’s even better than anything Steve’s ever imagined, and when he’s able to open his eyes and look down he can’t envision anyone else there. Bucky’s eyes are closed, and – upon closer inspection – he’s got his own cock out and in hand, and Steve feels the urge to touch Bucky, too. To make him feel this good.

“Buck – stop, wait,” Steve manages breathlessly, pulling Bucky’s head off of him, as opposed to pushing him deeper.

Bucky responds immediately, head up, blinking. “What? Is this okay?” There’s a trail of saliva going from Bucky’s mouth down to Steve, joining them together, and Steve can’t understand how this situation keeps improving upon itself.

“Do you – can I touch you too?” Steve asks, the words sluggishly coming to him through his muddled brain.

The look on Bucky’s face is soft and sweet in a way it hasn’t been for a long time. He climbs up onto the bed with Steve, sitting in his lap even though it’s an awkward arrangement. “You got big hands now, right?” Bucky asks with that smirk on his face again, and Steve’s absolutely gone on it. If he could make Bucky smile like that every day, he knows he’ll die a happy man.

It’s obvious what Bucky is suggesting – now that Steve has a lapful of him, their cocks are so close together it wouldn’t take much to grab them. And Bucky’s done an admirable job of making sure Steve’s wet enough to slide softly against Bucky’s own dick. Though he’s not exactly an expert on this (one in hand, sure – two? Not so much), Steve is used to throwing himself headfirst into any challenge and wraps both of their cocks in his hand.

Bucky immediately presses his mouth to Steve’s, this time without any consideration. His teeth knock against Steve’s and he’s sure he can taste some blood from where someone has bitten someone, but Steve’s moving his hand up and down and it feels like heaven. Steve can’t maintain any reasonable pace for long, his hips jerking and bouncing Bucky around in his lap, and it doesn’t take long for Steve to lose control.

He buries his face in Bucky’s neck, and he can distantly hear the other man talking to him, “ _Stevie_ , come on, _please_ ,” but it’s like he’s underwater. When he cums a moment later it’s with a strained moan, and his hand just stays there, wrapped around the two of them.

In the time it takes Steve to come back to himself from what was, quite possibly, the greatest orgasm of his life (to date?), Bucky has wrapped his hand around Steve’s and started jerking it up and down. “Steve, please,” he’s begging, and Steve squeezes his hand tighter, letting Bucky set the pace he likes.

Time is irrelevant now, but Bucky follows soon after Steve, leaving the space between them a mess of sweat and cum. If Steve had the brain power, he’d probably try to clean them up. Especially Bucky’s shirt. That’s going to stain.

Instead, he doesn’t. He lets Bucky kiss him again, just lightly on the lips, and then they’re stripping their clothes off, tossing them mindlessly to the floor. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky and pulls him in tight, holding the other man flush against him.

\---

The next morning Steve goes to return the stones. He comes back.


End file.
